Four Christmases – A Look in the Past

Four Christmases is one of my first Christmas stories. If you remember it from the original posting, congrats! You’ve been around on the site longer than most. I’ve also added a Fifth Christmas to the end, so I hope you read all the way through.

Christmas One

The first time saw her, he hated her. The thin, blond haired girl had been eyeing him for nearly fifteen minutes before walking over. “My name’s Clara,” she said, holding out her hand.
Darien looked her over. His thick, black hair hung over one eye – his most recent trademark. She was dressed in a red dress, like everyone other girl present. Her name was on a blue-rimmed nametag on her chest, her golden hair framing a thin face.
“Darien,” he said, shaking the hand.
“Who’s your teacher?” she asked.
“Mr. Paul,” Darien replied, trying to be blunt and dismissive. The girl wouldn’t be dissuaded, however.
“That’s cool! My teacher is Miss Gloria. She’s fantastic.”
“Uh, huh,” Darien said. He looked for a way out, but couldn’t see one. Fortunately, one was given to him, as his piano instructor, Paul Elkson, came over.
“They’re getting ready for us, Darien. Do you want to sit with the rest of us?”
“Sure,” Darien said, trying not to act too excited to get out of Clara’s presence. He followed the tall, thin man towards the aisles of the church sanctuary. He took his seat with the two other students in his class, daring a glance back. He snapped back forward. Clara was still watching him!

Clara smiled at the back of Darien’s head, going to sit with her parents. He was so cute, she thought, with his hair over his eye, and that fancy suit. She patiently waited as the other students went up to perform. Finally, it was her turn.
She walked up to the front of the auditorium, where Miss Gloria stood, talking about Clara’s musical achievements, and how proud she was. Clara smiled at the crowd, then lifted her violin to her chin. She closed her eyes, feeling the bow in her hand and touched it to the strings. She breathed out, beginning the song.
Far too soon, it was over, and Clara returned to her seat to loud applause. A few of the older students turned to look at her, amazed at her level of skill, but Clara didn’t notice them. She just naturally assumed everyone had the same ability as she did.
Miss Gloria gave the floor over to Mr. Paul, who called up his first student. To Clara’s disappointment, it wasn’t Darien, but one of his younger students. Both Mr. Paul and the student sat down, playing a short duet. Then Mr. Paul stood up, and the student played a solo.
Mr. Paul stood up again, and introduced his next student. Clara smiled when she saw it was Darien this time. He walked confidently to the piano and sat down, looking over the crowd for a second. Clara gave him her biggest smile.

Darien didn’t usually get stage fright. He was confident in his abliity, and he coud shut out the sight of so many people watching him, imagining himself to be back at home, playing by himself. But Clara’s face turned off that feeling.
His heart constricted and he felt his face turning red. Darien took a deep breath, and began to play. But his fingers didn’t want to move the way they should. To the untrained ear, it didn’t sound bad, just blocky. This room, however, was filled with trained ears. Darien focused on getting his fingers to move right, but they refused. He finished the song awkwardly, stiffly bowing to the audience.
He walked to his seat and sat down, trying not to let his frustration show. Mr. Paul touched his shoulder, but Darien ignored it. His anger kindled around that girl, Clara. Why did she have to look at him like that?
The show went on, but he couldn’t focus on the music. Songs came and went, but he didn’t want to listen anymore. Once it was over, he faced his parents. Both told him how good he had sounded and he thanked them for the effort.
As everyone left for the reception down the hall, Darien grabbed Mr. Paul’s arm. “Can I stay and play for a bit?” he asked.
Mr. Paul thought for a second, then nodded. “Don’t stay too long,” he said. “But yes, you may stay.”
“Thank you,” Darien said. He hung back until everyone else had left, then returned to the piano at the front. He sat down, and put his fingers out. He pressed middle C. The clear note rang through the silent sanctuary, resonating into his core.
Then everything let loose. All the frustration was vented into the keys. Pounding, gliding, sweeping – this was music in its most true form. It was life; it was breath. Everything that Darien was, his entire being, was contained in this song.
As he finished, he let out a long breath. He found himself bent over, so that his face was directly next to the keys, facing away from the empty auditorium. He sat up, something catching in the corner of his eye. He turned, but all he saw was a flash of red as someone slipped out of the back.

Paul Elkson leaned against the wall, watching Clara dart away. He looked at the other music teachers, all of whom had been drawn to the magical sounds. “That boy,” he said quietly, “Will surpass us all.”

Christmas Two

Paul ran a hand through his now-greying hair. “This is going to be our biggest performance yet,” he said to Gloria. She smiled and nodded. Paul continued, “I want to do something different this year. It’s been 15 years since we started putting on these shows. I think we should bring back a few of our former students, the ones who continued on to study music or perform, and have them come back, just for one night.”
“Do you think anyone would be willing to do that?” Gloria asked. “We’re more out of the way, and we wouldn’t be able to pay them.”
“Actually,” Paul said, smiling slightly, “I already have a plan. Darien emailed me a few weeks ago, saying that he would be in town, and was hoping to come in and watch the show.”
Gloria hummed, rolling the idea over in her head. “That would be nice,” she agreed. “I wonder…” she trailed off.
“What?” Paul asked.
“A long shot,” Gloria replied cryptically. “Remember Clara?”
Paul thought for a second. “She was only here for two or three years, right? The girl who caused problems with Darien?”
Gloria nodded. “She’s a phenomonal violinist. She’s been touring with a small band for the last six months. I’ve heard some of their work, and they deserve a lot more attention than they’re getting.”
“You want her to bring her band here?” Paul asked.
Gloria shook her head. “I’ll only ask her. I think she and Darien would do a beautiful duet.”
Paul looked aghast. “You do realize he hated her, right?”
“Pff. They were kids.”
“He told me once that he wanted to use her bow to smash her violin, and then burn what remained.”
Gloria put a hand out to stop him. “Can’t you see, Paul? She had it right. They were made for each other. We just need to show them that.”
Paul’s expression changed to one of confusion. “You want to set them up? Gloria, what’s going on with you?”
She shrugged. “I can’t pass up a chance to do good,” she said.
Paul snorted.

Darien pulled into the parking lot, whistling softly. “They’ve come a long way since the church,” he murmured to himself. The Winston Theater was the largest theater in town, large enough to hold any and all who came to watch tonight.
He got out of the car, straightening his collar. As per his most recent trademark, he wore a white collared shirt with a black sweater over top, crisp black shoes covering black socks. It suited him, just as the long hair had suited him when he was younger. He was a music major at his university, and he looked every inch the part.
Paul met him at the door with a firm handshake. “It’s good to see you again, Darien,” he said, pulling open the door.
“Good to see you, too,” Darien replied, stepping into the foyer. He looked around the room, and stopped dead. Next to Miss Gloria, a slender woman with long, blond hair smiled at him. Darien tried not to show how beautiful he thought she was. “I feel like I recognize you,” he said slowly. “But I’m afraid I can’t place your name. I’m Darien.”
“I remember,” she replied. Her voice was sweet, and sounded like laughter was waiting to bubble out. Darien felt stupid. “I’m Clara,” she said.
It all flooded back – the awkward watching, messing up the concert – and Darien had to fight to control the blush that threatened his cheeks. When had she grown up? When Paul had said Clara, this wasn’t the girl he had in mind. He had assumed it was a current student, or another graduate he didn’t know. Awkwardly, he nodded to her. “Nice to meet you. Again.”
Clara just smiled.
Miss Gloria motioned to the theater hall. “If you’d like, they pulled out their grand. Feel free to go in and get a feel for the keys.”
“That would be great, thanks,” Darien said, taking the opportunity. He pushed open the doors to the hall, and whistled again. He had forgotten how large the place really was.
On the stage was a pristinely white grand piano. Darien personally preferred black pianos, if only because they looked more professional, but in the end, he just cared about the sound. He hurried up to the stage, sliding onto the bench and touching the keys. Unlike when he was younger, he no longer touched the keys with reverence. This piano was his tool, and he used it with great skill.
Firmly, he began to play one of his compositions, high staccato notes quickly moving down to the bass clef. It changed to legato arpeggios, up and down the keys. He liked to start with this piece, because it gave him a full feel for all the keys.
He finished, and paused. Paul and Gloria were clapping in the back, but he ignored them. He began to play again, the same melody, but transposed, to get a feel for the keys that he had missed. He ended with a flourish, then smiled at his former teachers.
“You’ve taught me well,” he said.
“We didn’t teach you that,” Paul said, coming to the front. “I taught you how to play the piano, but not how to use it like that.”
“Without you, though, I wouldn’t have gotten anywhere,” Darien said.
“I highly doubt that,” Paul replied. “You have too much innate skill not to go down the road you’re on right now.”
“Thanks, Mr. Paul,” Darien said. “It means a lot to me.”
Gloria came up behind Paul, Clara trailing slightly behind. “We were wondering if you wanted to try out a duet, just to hear how you sound together. We’ll tighten things down as we get closer to the day.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” Darien agreed. He was feeling more comfortable now. “What kind of music do you play, Clara?”
“I play with more of an indie style band. But I still play classical music constantly.”
“Do you know Spin by the River?” Darien asked, referencing a popular song from the year before.
“Who doesn’t?” Clara asked. She opened her case and retrieved her violin. After a quick tune-up, she lifted it to her chin. “Whenever you’re ready.”
The words were spoken softly, with the hint of a challenge. Darien felt the knot of unease completely disappearing from his stomach. He had claimed music as his world years ago, and no girl was going to destroy his grip on his kingdom, now matter how uncomfortable he felt. “Try to keep up,” he replied, playing the opening without looking at the keys.
Clara stared back, playing a quiet harmony. Darien dropped into the melody of the first verse, Clara instinctively playing the same notes, only an octave above. Without missing a beat, they flowed into the chorus. Darien noticed Clara’s lips moving to the music.
And we’ll spin, spin
Spin by the river
Spin there forever
Spin by the river
Together, they spun back into the second verse, this time changing roles. The violin sang out the melody, while Darien played a harmony on the low bass notes. And still they had not broken eye contact.
As they went through the chorus once more, Clara’s mouth was saying something different. Don’t stop, she was pleading. Darien nodded toward her, motioning that he would follow. She began to play a bridge into another song, which he recognized as Derrigan Bay, one of the popular Celtic songs about boy returning to his home. He didn’t know the song as well as Spin by the River, but he knew it well enough to play simple harmony.
Their music swelled into the finale like the waves that the song talked about. Darien pounded the keys; Clara’s bow sang bright and true. In the silence that followed, Gloria nudged Paul. He looked down, an expression of awe on his face.
I told you so, Gloria mouthed.

After the four had discussed what songs Darien and Clara would be performing, and ran through them twice, Paul said goodnight. Gloria hastily followed his lead and bowed out.
As the two musicians left the theater, Clara murmured, “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” Darien asked, shivering slightly in the air, now turned cold.
“For all those years ago. I was just a kid. A stupid kid. And looking back, I know I was the reason you messed up at that concert.”
Darien winced. “You remember that?” he asked.
“Only because I snuck back later and listened to you play. Darien, you were incredible, even back then. I could tell you were way better than anyone else. I couldn’t get why you messed up during the actual performance.” She paused, hesitating, then continued. “It was a few years ago, when the same sort of thing happened to me, that I realized that it was my fault.”
Darien shrugged it off. “No worries. I don’t blame you for something you did when you were a kid. We were both immature.”
Clara sighed. “Good. I wouldn’t want that being in the back of your mind during every rehearsal.”
Darien laughed. “That would be horrible, wouldn’t it?” He shook his head. “No, it’s fine.” He looked at his car. “I should probably get going,” he said.
Clara smiled faintly. “Probably. You look a little cold.”
“It’s not too bad,” Darien shrugged. “Well, goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
Darien turned to his car, but only got three steps before he turned back. “Actually, Clara,” he started, “I’m not very good at this, but do you think I could get your number?”
Clara smiled again, and this time, it was as vibrant as her music.

Christmas Three

Darien wrestled the tree in place, pushing it as far into the corner without damaging all of the needles. “I don’t know why anyone gets real trees,” he said, stepping back and admiring his work. A thin beard was forming on his cheeks, trimmed to certain specification in order to form his most recent trademark. “Fake ones are so much easier.”
His wife nestled into his side, forcing him to put his arm around her. “Though they do smell better,” she said, handing him a cup of hot chocolate.
“Thanks, beautiful,” he said, kissing her temple.
“You’re welcome,” she said, returning the favor on his cheek.
Darien took a sip of the creamy hot chocolate, then put it on an endtable. “Now, to see if these lights still work,” he said, bending down. The lights were built into the tree, ending the fuss of needing strings. He pulled the cord to the wall, and plugged it in. Instantly, multicolored lights sprang on all across the tree.
The room went dark, lit only by the glow of the tree’s lights. Darien looked at his wife, who was standing by the lightswitch. He smiled, pulling out his phone and and turning on light jazz music. The bluetooth speakers in the room filled the entire room with the soft and gentle music.
“Excuse me,” he said, stepping up to his wife. “But may I have this dance?”
Clara smiled back, taking the hand offered to him. “Of course.”

Darien sat in the front of the church, softly playing music on the piano as people walked into the sanctuary. Clara played a counter-melody from the opposite end of the stage. Once everyone was seated, the band drummer started tapping out a soft beat. The electric guitar and bass joined it, forming the beginning of Jingle Bells.
Darien joined in, his fingers putting bells themselves to shame. Clara’s bow mimicked the sweeping motion of the sleigh as it ran through the snow. The lead singer, Jorgen, stepped forward, his thick baritone filling the room and putting a smile on each person’s face.
As they finished, the audience began clapping. “Thank you very much,” Jorgen said. “We’re so honored to be here tonight for this very special Christmas Eve performance. And we’re even more honored that you’ve decided to join us.” He began to introduce the bandmembers. Most of them were from Clara’s group, but a few had joined, and a few had left.
“And finally, I’d like to introduce you to the two most talented musicians I have ever had the pleasure of working with. It’s suiting that both of them ended up married to each other. Ladies and gentlemen, Darien and Clara Anderson, on piano and violin respectively.”
The audience cheered, and Jorgen continued. “As this is their hometown, we found it only fitting that they play a song that means a lot to them and most likely to you.”
That was the cue. Darien played a short, sharp measure, and Clara echoed it. Their audience clapped again, recognizing the song as Millersville Christmas, a song that he and Clara had written their first year working together. It had spread like wildfire, bringing back memories of all hometowns in America, and awakening a longing to go visit that place for the holidays.
This time, they didn’t worry about the lyrics. They had revamped the song in order to bring the fullest amount of pleasure just from instruments alone. The rest of the band sat, enjoying the music with the audience. The notes flew through the air, like snowflakes in the misty Christmas Eve air. Too soon, the snow shower was over, and the bassist was touching his strings again, plucking out God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.
The show went flawlessly, with each bandmember hitting their cue perfectly. Darien and Clara got their fair share of solos and duets, and by the time it was finished, the audience had been filled. There was happy chatter as they left the auditorium, with cries of “Merry Christmas!” ringing everywhere.
Darien and Clara hung back, helping their sound team pick up all the equipment. “Merry Christmas, you two,” Jorgen said, coming over and throwing his arms over their shoulders. “Drink some eggnog for me.”
“Will do, Jorgen,” Darien said, smiling. “We’ll see you on New Year’s Eve.”
Jorgen slapped him on the back, gave Clara a hug, then wandered away to help the drummer.
It was nearly midnight by the time the two were pulling into their driveway. They collapsed in the living room, Darien barely bothering to loose his tie.
“I have a present I want you to open now,” Clara said. She retrieved a small box, and handed it to him, taking a seat by his feet.
“Are you sure you don’t want to wait until morning?” Darien asked.
She shook her head. “I promised myself I’d make you open it first thing on Christmas.” She motioned to the clock. “Which, technically, it is now.”
Darien carefully unwrapped the box, and pulled it open. Inside, there was a small sheet of paper. He read it, then looked at his wife. “Is this right?” he asked.
Clara smiled. “Yes,” she said, looking up at him, “You’re going to be a father.”
Darien dropped the paper and the box, leaned down, and kissed his wife.

Christmas Four

Darien stepped back from the tree, smiling. “We did good,” he said to his wife.
Clara smiled back at him from the couch. “You did good,” she replied. “My patience with Christmas trees is limited to picking them out. I don’t know how you stand to decorate them.”
Darien sat next to her, breathing out a long sigh. “You know,” he said, “I think we have more gifts for the grandkids than last year.” He motioned to the mound of presents that were waiting to be stacked under the tree.
“You do spoil them,” Clara said, poking her husband gently.
“Me?” Darien asked. “I’m not the one who gives them pure sugar when they come to visit.”
“They were sugar cookies,” Clara replied, leaning her head on Darien’s shoulder.
“Sprinkled with sugar,” Darien replied, kissing his wife’s white hair.
Clara just hummed with fake annoyance. Darien smiled slightly, looking down at his wife. Though they had both aged, and he had lost much of his hair (claiming baldness was his new trademark), he still found her as lovely as when he had seen her walking down the aisle.
“Would you mind turning on the radio, dear?” Clara asked, and Darien reached over. A gentle melody came through the speakers, and Clara smiled. “That sounds like Wesley’s playing.”
“I think it is,” Darien said. “He’s even more popular than we ever were.”
Wesley, their firstborn, and Tommy, their third, had put together a band with Jorgen’s son, Stanley. Together, they called themselves ‘AnderSON,’ a play on their last name. Their parent’s fame had helped gain them recognition, but now, people referred to Darien and Clara as Wesley’s parents, not the other way around. Wesley was his own man, with his own identity outside of Darien and Clara, which made his parents extremely proud.
“We did good,” Clara said. “Didn’t we.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yeah, we did,” Darien replied. He looked down at his wife again. “I love you, Clara.”
“I love you, too, Darien,” she replied. Then came the comfortable silence. Because after such words, what more needs to be said?

Christmas Five

The first Christmas he hated her.
The second Christmas, he fell for her.
And every year after that, they fell more in love. And now, standing beside each other, they waved to their grandchildren.
Their granddaughter came up to them, looking over her shoulder. “I don’t know if I can do this,” she said.
“You can,” Clara said, encouragingly. “You’ve played for us a hundred times. This is no different.”
”But this is in front of everyone!” she complained. “Plus, there’s a guy and he won’t stop looking at me.”
Her grandparents exchanged a grin, but said nothing. “You’re going to do great,” Darien said, then shooed her away. As she retreated back to the rest of the students, her grandfather went to rise to his feet. “So help me,” he said, “I’m going to find that boy and bury him so deep, they’ll never find the body.”
”Darien,” his wife scolded, and he reluctantly took his seat. “Aren’t you glad no one buried me? If he’s not trying anything, I wouldn’t worry.”
”Me now might be glad, but me then?” Darien laughed. “I’d’ve helped!”
But he settled in for the show, deciding that his wife was probably right. Plus, he figured, his grandsons were old enough now that they could do the threatening. He could spend all his energy on plotting the young man’s demise.
As the music started, he looked over at his wife. The years had left their toll, but he found her more beautiful than ever. He thought of that recital all those years before, and then looked at the one in front of him.
Life had come full circle, as it always does. It was time for a new story – a new symphony – to begin.